


It's Not Personal (It's Business)

by ChibiFrieza



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiFrieza/pseuds/ChibiFrieza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sterling looks exactly like Crowley.  It's not a coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Personal (It's Business)

James Sterling is having a quiet, private sort of meltdown in the quiet privacy of his hotel room in Zurich. It’s not the first time he’s been at his wits’ end, nor, he’s quite sure, will it be the last. At the moment, though, it feels awfully like the end of the world as he knows it.

Art, he knows. Criminals, apparently, he does not. He assured his boss he could handle this and he was confident, so very confident, but sitting here on the edge of the bed with the cold air of early spring in Switzerland blowing in from the balcony, he is well on his way to being utterly convinced that this was entirely the wrong choice of career. What made him think he could take on a professional art thief and come out whole, let alone victorious? Who in the hell told him he was that smart? Lord, he hasn’t even thought to shut the window, someone could easily have snuck into his room and _killed him_ by now.

Jimmy Sterling is somewhat prone to melodrama. Ask anyone.

He gets up, then, to close the glass door. His first international assignment and after a promising start, he’s been given the slip so thoroughly he’s no longer sure he’s even on the right continent anymore. He stands in the balcony doorway with one hand on the slider, gazing over the city and out to sea, indulging in a moment of picturesque despair before he has to go back inside and get serious.

Movement catches his eye, and he shifts his gaze leftward to see dark smoke curling up along the back of the sea breeze. Frowning, he tries to distinguish its source, notes that it doesn’t seem to be dissipating, and has time only to realise that it seems to be actually heading straight for him before he’s met face-on with the black cloud. Everything greys out, then, not just his vision but all his senses, and he feels an invasive, pervasive horror. Something... something is _inside him_ , something very _wrong_ , and he struggles to squeeze it out again, but he finds himself hampered and quickly exhausted. His own personal crisis has already taken enough of his strength that he is wholly ineffective against this interloper. The struggle to regain control of himself begins to feel like struggling with a panic attack, and the part of his own mind that never quite gives over to the moment has a chance to observe how strange it is to hyperventilate without engaging one’s body before he begins to lose consciousness.

Just before he blacks out completely, he hears a voice in his head, amused and considering.

[ _Hmm. You’ll do._ ]

 

*

 

Some time later, Sterling regains awareness. Ordinarily he would shift a little, make sure he’s all in one piece, maybe groan if he’s sore, pry his eyes open, that sort of thing. Except his eyes are already open, his body is already moving, and, oh, God help him, he’s apparently _kissing a man_.

He lets out an undignified yelp, but the impulses don’t make it through his nervous system. All he gets in response is a weird, somewhat nauseating chuckle from inside his head.

[ _Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s not like we’re taking him to bed._ ]

The kiss ends, and the other man steps away, visibly shaken, wiping disgustedly at his mouth with the sleeve of his tweed jacket.

“You. That’s it, then? I mean. You’ll keep the deal, right?” The man can barely make words, it seems, and Sterling looks on in horror as his body replies without his input.

“Of course. But don’t think I won’t be collecting my payment. Ten years.” Sterling feels his body nod once, and then, abruptly, he is somewhere else.

Reeling with disorientation from the sudden shift in location, it’s a moment before Sterling can pull himself together enough to demand, _What the hell is going on?_ He knew, he realised that he was no longer in control of his body, but it’s still a shock when he wants to make angry demands for explanation and he can’t even speak. _What are you? What have you done to me?_

[ _Calm down,_ ] says the voice. It’s trying to be soothing, Sterling thinks, but it isn’t really working. Whatever’s talking to him, whatever has taken him over, it’s not fitting smoothly, and there are blunt edges pressing up against where Sterling’s own consciousness is curling in on itself, trying to stay out of the way and avoid another panic-induced blackout. The irregular contact is both painful and nauseating, and the voice has a quality of slick compulsion that makes his stomach squirm. Used car salesmen the world over would sacrifice virgins for that kind of persuasive power, but directed at him from inside his own head, it just makes him profoundly uncomfortable.

 _I am calm._ It’s not exactly the truth, and they both know it, but Sterling has decided that he doesn’t need to roll over and acquiesce to this – whatever-it-is – completely, just because it’s in control of his body. _Answer me._

There’s a sensation roughly approximating a longsuffering sigh, and the voice mutters, [ _I always forget how difficult you lot are at first._ ] And before Sterling can ask what that means, the voice continues. [ _My name is Crowley. I’m a demon. My last host wore out recently, so I’ll be using your body from now on. Any more questions?_ ]

Sterling has to just take a minute then and concentrate on not panicking again. He’s pretty sure his stream-of-consciousness _oh god what did I ever do how is that even possible there has to be some mistake demons aren’t real oh god oh god_ is completely intelligible to Crowley, but he doesn’t have room to care, and Crowley seems uninterested in commenting on it. There’s a sensation of patience emanating from the foreign presence – the _demon_ , oh, god – and he gets the feeling that Crowley’s waiting for his next voluntary words.

In the meantime, his body is walking along a cobblestone street, and he realises they’re in London, of all places.

 _Why are we in London?_ It’s not what he really wants to ask, but he figures the rest can wait. He was in the middle of something important, and he is no longer anywhere near Zurich, where the trail, no matter how faint or misleading, is going colder by the minute.

[ _Because your mark will be here in an hour and a half._ ] Crowley flags down a taxicab and bundles Sterling’s body into the back. “Heathrow,” he says, and the cabbie nods. [ _I’ve already notified Interpol. You do want to witness the arrest, don’t you?_ ]

Sterling is thoroughly confused.

_You said you’re a demon._

[ _I am._ ]

_You’re helping law enforcement._

[ _Yes._ ]

_Aren’t demons – you know – evil?_

[ _Well, evil’s sort of a relative term. I prefer warped._ ] There’s a buckled sort of satisfaction in Crowley’s sense-tone that Sterling shies away from on instinct. He cuts off the line of questioning and just goes straight to the point.

_Why are you doing my job for me?_

The streets of London scroll by, grimy and familiar, only he can’t control where he looks; he’s at Crowley’s mercy, the demon controlling his gaze, his posture, his breathing.

[ _Look._ ] Crowley seems to want to be frank, and when he continues, his tone is not quite the used car salesman’s dream. He seems almost... sincere. [ _I realise you hate this, and there’s going to be an adjustment period for both of us – Lucifer knows, this isn’t easy on me either._ ] Sterling gives a mental snort of disbelief. [ _Hey, it’s not exactly a picnic breaking in a new host, you know,_ ] Crowley continues mildly. [ _I could just keep you blocked away and torment you and never let you have any fun. Most of the other demons do._ ] It’s meant as a scare tactic, he’s sure, but he’s also inclined to believe it, and a shudder runs along his consciousness. [ _Exactly. I hold my staff to higher standards. I’m a businessman, see, and reciprocity is important to me. I’m a very fair individual, Jimmy._ ]

Sterling hadn’t realised his name was known, but considering that Crowley is in control of his body and seems to have full access to his memories – and isn’t _that_ an uncomfortable thought – it shouldn’t really come as a surprise. Being addressed by name by a demon, though; that, he imagines, is not something that will ever be pleasant.

 _Fair, are you?_ He takes up the dispute as a distraction for himself, hoping he can override some of the discomfort he’s feeling with good, old-fashioned belligerence. _Yeah, I’d say ambushing me and taking over my body without my co-operation was just about the definition of fair. I’m sure you make a fantastic businessman._

The jibe hits a nerve.

[ _I’ll have you know that I am_ exceptional _at my job,_ ] Crowley snaps. [ _My contracts are works of bloody_ art.]

 _‘Bloody’ being the operative word, no doubt_ , sneers Sterling, surprising himself with his boldness. To his surprise, Crowley laughs, and, ugh, he’s not sure he likes that sensation at all.

[ _I knew I picked you for a reason. Caught you on the tail end of a meltdown and you still gave me trouble._ ] Sterling’s not sure what to make of this change in tone, and he waits quietly. [ _I want to be reasonable about this,_ ] Crowley continues. [ _I know you’re not stupid enough that you trust me yet, but I just want to point out that I’m the one calling the shots here. I have no reason to lie to you._ ]

Sterling thinks about that for a moment. _What are you proposing?_

[ _A business arrangement._ ] Sterling thinks there might be a shade of relief in Crowley’s tone. [ _I don’t meet personally with very many clients, so I won’t need your body at all times. You let me use it when I need it, and I’ll let you drive the rest of the time. You can still do your work. Nobody needs to know. I won’t misuse your body; I find it incredibly tiresome operating a damaged host, so you don’t have to worry. What do you say?_ ]

 _Technically, you don’t need my permission for this._ He’s not sure why Crowley’s even bothering, here. He doesn’t trust Crowley, he doesn’t want him in his body, he’s going to kick him out the second he figures out how – but for now, he doesn’t have a choice, and it’s extremely aggravating to have a demon patronise him with a business proposal, as though it _matters._

[ _No,_ ] Crowley agrees, [ _I don’t. But like I said, I want to be reasonable. You have no say in whether or not I stay. You do have a say in whether or not to keep your life._ ] He’s still calm, pleasant, but there’s a definite threat there. [ _You can make this as easy as it possibly can be, for both of us. Don’t fight me._ ] He says it gently, coaxing, and Sterling knows exactly what’s going on, but he also can’t see any other reasonable course of action. If he fights now, he won’t win; he can’t. He knows that, he can feel it. If he goes along with Crowley for a while, maybe he can get to know how the demon works, find a weakness. Maybe, eventually, when Crowley lets him have control, he’ll be able to keep it.

He’s keeping that line of thought as deeply buried as he possibly can, but even so, he’s not sure it’s hidden from Crowley. Crowley’s probably expecting some kind of private rebellion, though, confident that Sterling won’t be strong enough to pull off whatever he tries. He doesn’t seem worried, and he seems like he actually means what he’s saying.

Crowley was right – Sterling’s not stupid enough to trust him. But the options are limited.

The cab pulls up at the airport, and Crowley pulls out Sterling’s wallet.

[ _Think about it, okay?_ ]

 

*

 

Some time later, Interpol leads away their man in handcuffs.

 _How did you know?_ Sterling can’t help asking.

[ _Please. It’s what I do._ ] The smug expression on Sterling’s face is all Crowley.

They both watch as the thief is stuffed into a vehicle and whisked away to be held and tried. Sterling’s beginning to get used to riding shotgun in his own body – it isn’t comfortable, but it’s less oppressively bizarre, and Crowley seems to have settled in a little, the edges of his personality digging into Sterling’s with less force. Sterling thinks about how it was at the beginning, how sick and invasive and _wrong_ it felt, and it still feels that way, but the discomfort is lessened. He doesn’t want to have to go through all that again.

 _All right_ , he says finally.

[ _All right, what?_ ] As if he doesn’t already know.

_I won’t fight you. I accept your terms._

[ _Knew you were a reasonable man._ ]

His things are still back in Zurich; Crowley didn’t check out before leaving. In the hotel room once more, there’s a shifting and a careful jostling inside Sterling’s head as Crowley transfers primary operations back to his host. He’s still there, though, an unmistakable presence in the back corner, and Sterling is acutely aware that he could take over at any time.

[ _You know, if you wanted, I could even help you with your work._ ]

It’s tempting, actually, given how easily the demon located the criminal that Sterling had been tracking for weeks. But he has his pride, damn it.

_Thanks, but no, thanks. I think I can handle it._

He can feel Crowley smirking in the back of his mind.

[ _Your loss._ ]

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Livejournal](http://chibifrieza.livejournal.com/495787.html). Thank you for reading; comments are appreciated!


End file.
